


and slowly, History changes

by insertcleveracejoke



Series: tell a story, make History [2]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book: Night Watch, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, The Trousers of Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 06:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcleveracejoke/pseuds/insertcleveracejoke
Summary: "What do you want?", Sam demanded tiredly. He sounded so much older than he was. Then again, everyone did those days. Vetinari suspected that so did he."For this city to work, Mr. Vimes. For the next ruler to be, perhaps not Good as you lawful men would see it, but better than our last ones." Not that it would be particularly hard, he added in the privacy of his thoughts.





	and slowly, History changes

It had been in a dark room that Vetinari first heard about Lance-Constable Vimes. It seemed only fitting that they would properly meet each other for the first time in one.

Sam Vimes had deep bags under his eyes and the kind of jittery feeling about him that meant too much coffee and too little sleep for too long. That wasn't surprising. The Watch had been pulling longer shifts with less efficacy. He was sitting in a corner of his small room, clutching his helmet in unsteady hands and staring at it without really looking, something haunted and too old in his eyes. There was an open bottle of alcohol by his feet. It was barely touched for now. It had been three months since… Snapcase took power. Havelock knew the Lance-Constable had been close to Keel. It seemed he was mourning. 

The curtains fluttered when he slipped into the room, leaving the window open behind him. 

Sam immediately tried to grab his crossbow, standing up so quickly that his helmet fell with a clang on the floor, spilling the alcohol on what only a very generous person would call a rug. After a few slips, the crossbow was loaded and aimed, if by shaking hands. "Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

Havelock considered the question. "Does this usually work for you when someone breaks into your room?", he asked, with genuine curiosity.

Sam relaxed slightly, crossbow still aimed. People tended to think that having a conversation meant they were not about to get in a fight. In this case, of course, Vetinari was hopeful. It was still very foolish for him to relax.

Then again, he was young. He would learn.

"Dunno", Sam said. "Does asking that usually works when you're breaking into somebody's room?"

"That happens a little more often", Havelock admitted.

"You didn't answer my question."

"No", he agreed. He had considered giving Sam a fake name, a fake occupation, but the copper needed to trust him if this was going to work for any length of time. Perhaps he would leave informing Sam of his status as an assassin to a later date, though. He had a feeling that the copper wouldn't react very well to that. "My name is Havelock Vetinari. I came here for a… chat."

"Congratulations,'' Sam said, "you're in the middle of one."

Havelock briefly covered his mouth with his long fingers. When his hand fell back to his side, he was distinctly Not Smiling. "I would like to talk to you about the revolution."

Somehow, Sam's shoulders managed to sag and tense at the same time. He collapsed back on his chair and waved a jittery hand. "Sit."

Havelock cast a look around the room. The messy bed was his only reasonable option, and he resigned himself to sitting on the top of what he could only hope was a nest of blankets.

"What do you want?", Sam demanded tiredly. He sounded so much older than he was. Then again, everyone did those days. Vetinari suspected that so did he.

"For this city to work, Mr. Vimes. For the next ruler to be, perhaps not Good as you lawful men would see it, but better than our last ones." Not that it would be particularly hard, he added in the privacy of his thoughts. Rats were better than their last rulers. He would know. He lived in Ankh-Morpork.

"I've had my fill of revolutions."

Havelock nodded, acknowledging the point. "And yet, you've got to do the job that's in front of you,'' he said softly.

Sam straightened his posture, suddenly staring at the invasor with a hawk's attention that might have intimidated a lesser man. "That's what he said."

"I know."

"You were… there?"

"I was", Havelock said. He didn't look sad. In fact, it was astoundingly remarkable how carefully he didn't look like anything. His hands were very pointedly steady. His face was carefully blank. "I was the shadow that made the last lord fall, and I was too late to break the sergeant's. I am sorry."

"You tried to save him?"

"I failed."

"Why?"

Havelock didn't sigh. "I didn't know where he was. I was too late."

Sam stared at him for a minute, recovering his helmet from the ground and tapping on it as he thought. Havelock found himself surprisingly unbothered by the steady attention. 

It was in a different way than how Downey's disdainful gaze didn't bother him. Havelock found he was… curious. When Vetinari was curious, the answer was often found. It wouldn't dare not to.

"What do you want from me?", Sam finally said.

The assassin smiled. "Ah,'' he said. "Now you're asking the right questions."

Some time later, Sam silently considered what he had been told. The wall he had been staring at for the last minutes was starting to feel shy when he finally spoke. "Ah", he said. "I see."

Havelock waited quietly. 

Sam was still tapping on the helmet. Thoughtful as he was, though, he missed a few beats in distraction. It was starting to give Havelock a vague idea about a clock and a waiting room, and also a headache.

"I don't know what he'd say,'' Sam admitted, still staring at the wall. "Maybe that revolutions don't last. Maybe that we should do the job that's in front of us."

"What will you say?", Havelock said.

"Me?..."

In a different leg of these Trousers of Time, Sam says no. No. He's a copper, not a conspirator, and Keel taught him about the meaningless of revolutions. You take care of the people. Not the People. 

In that specific leg, things don't change much. Sam is perhaps bitterer. Maybe more angry at Vetinari, maybe less. History doesn't change much. But that's not the story we're telling today, is it?

With the dark covering half of his face, this Samuel Vimes slowly smiled. It wasn't quite the fearsome sight that it would one day be, but it was still unnerving, even to someone like Havelock. The shadows seemed to cling to his body like a cape.

"I say yes."


End file.
